


Manifest

by ladyofrosefire



Series: The Fjord Trash Fjic Quarantine Zone [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: BDSM, Begging, Bondage, Fellatio, M/M, Nipple Clamps, Objectification, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-10-13
Packaged: 2019-08-01 13:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16285325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofrosefire/pseuds/ladyofrosefire
Summary: Around the time the Mighty Nein gets back to Zadash with Ophelia Mardun, Fjord goes to see the Gentleman again.Filth. Just... Filth.





	Manifest

**Author's Note:**

> For the purposes of this fic, we're gonna say Jester and the Gentleman are NOT related.

The Gentleman is sitting at his desk when Sorah escorts Fjord into the room off of the gallery of the Evening Nip. He looks up and breaks into a wide grin, steepling leather-gloved fingers. 

“Fjord! What a pleasant surprise.”

That’s patently bullshit. The people upstairs probably notified him as soon as Fjord appeared outside of the inn. Still, he smiles and gives a half shrug. 

“Happy to oblige.”

At a wave from her boss, Sorah turns and leaves the room, leaving them alone. The Gentleman turns his attention to Fjord. One black brow arches toward his hairline. Fjord stares back, his chin up, even as his stomach begins to tie itself into a complicated knot. That cool, black gaze rakes him up and down, slowly. Then one long-fingered hand comes up, beckons. 

“Strip, then come and stand in the middle of the room, hands behind your head, feet shoulder-width apart.” 

Fjord gets halfway through unbuckling the bracer on his left arm before he realizes what that is going to look like. He pauses, blinks, and then swallows hard. He can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks and the back of his neck but does his best to ignore it. If he does a good enough job, it will just go away. Judging by the Gentleman’s chuckle, he doesn’t manage it. With his face burning, he removes his armor a piece at a time, setting it in a neat pile on a conveniently placed side-table. The ropes go in neat coils beside the cuirass. He hesitates for a moment when he gets to his pants, only for a quiet but pointed cough to spur him on. Fjord manages not to gasp as he bends to pick them up off of the floor. 

He moves without either dashing or dragging his feet, which he thinks deserves a damn round of applause, until he reaches the indicated patch of floor. It’s easier to move his feet apart. He braces himself, gets his balance. That part feels good. He has to make himself raise his arms and interlace his fingers behind his head. It puts all his vitals on display— his chest, his stomach, the undersides of his arms. His cock, which is beginning to fill enough that it’s obvious to anyone cares to look. Sure, the only one there to see is the Gentleman, but that doesn’t really make it that much better. 

The Gentleman rises lazily from the table, straightening his coat and tugging the cuff of one of his gloves. They reach about halfway up his forearms. Even from here, the leather looks soft and supple. Fjord swallows and fixes his eyes straight ahead. A moment later, he gets confirmation on the texture of those gloves as one hand curves over his shoulder. The leather lights up Fjord’s skin in the wake of a gaze that seems to take in every inch of him. 

“I ought to thank Jester for taking such good care of my things…” He muses as he walks in a slow circle, his fingers dragging lazily over Fjord’s skin. “What do you think she’d like?”

Fjord opens his mouth and closes it several times, a bit like a fish. 

“That’s alright. Hush now.” 

His head spins, and he shuts his mouth.

“Good boy.” 

His breathing is coming harder now. Fjord holds the next lungful, but it still comes out shaky. One hand rubs up and down his chest.

“Shh… I’m quite pleased so far.” Then the Gentleman raises his hand, takes Fjord by the chin, and holds him so he cannot look away. “Are you wearing your plug?”

Fjords face burns. He can’t nod while held like this, so he swallows hard to wet his dry mouth. “Yes. Yes, sir.” He corrects hurriedly. 

“Good.” One boot nudges at the inside of his right foot. “Feet another… let’s say half a foot apart. Bend over, hands on the floor.”  
“Oh, Gods…” 

He does it, though, quickly enough that the Gentleman seems to forgive the exclamation. At least in this position, he can pretend his face is well-hidden. Fjord bites at the inside of his lip as the Gentleman spreads his ass. A gloved finger rubs around the base of the plug Fjord had eased into himself shortly before making his way back here. 

“I suppose you can’t wear it while you’re away. It might make for a… challenge. Still, it’s a shame.”

He steps away, and Fjord starts to straighten up. 

“Ah! No, I didn’t say you could do that.” 

Immediately, he bends again. “Sorry, sir.” 

“You didn’t know. I’ll make sure you remember. Stay like that. I just need to get a few things.” 

And then the Gentleman leaves the room. Leaves Fjord bent over, ass in the air, a plug in place holding him ready, and his cock half hard between his legs. He could straighten up, listen for the Gentleman’s return, and then bend back over. He could, but that would not be honest. And something about all of this just— well, it feels like it would be cheating. And the urge to just do as he’s told drags at him. 

Fjord remains bent. By the time he hears footsteps, his face feels like it’s on fire and his head is swimming. He forces himself to keep his head down but doesn’t have to wait long for confirmation of their owner’s identity. 

“Aren’t you a picture,” comes that smooth, smug voice. The Gentleman drops a pillow in front of him and then presses his hand to Fjord’s abdomen. “Kneel on that. Good boy.” 

He eases Fjord down and then rubs that hand through his hair. Two gloved fingers slip into his mouth. Automatically, Fjord laves at them, his eyes falling half-closed as their weight and the taste of the leather covers his tongue. 

“Now, what to do with you…”

Fjord almost opens his mouth to ask if he gets a vote, but the fingers on his tongue stop him just in time.

“I could have your throat again. Or your ass. Or both.” 

The Gentleman’s other hand moves to the laces of his pants and unties them. Fjord cannot draw his eyes away as he grips his cock through the leather of his trousers. All at once, the gloved fingers in his mouth are nowhere near enough, and he finds himself choking back a moan. 

“Mouth it is, mm? Would you like that.”

He nods, making another muffled sound. 

The Gentleman finishes unlacing the front of his pants and pulls his cock free. He draws Fjord forward. His fingers slip out and, with his other hand, he guides his cock into Fjord’s mouth. The salt taste is familiar in more ways than one. It makes his mouth water, and he laps at it eagerly. It earns him a chuckle and a thumb rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Get it wet, first. Then I’ll fuck your mouth.”

Fjord leans in. Salt-and-musk fills his mouth. Blunt nails scrape over his scalp. Unbidden, Jester’s voice pops up in the back of his head. Fjord has to pull away as he begins to laugh, his shoulders shaking.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’— just. Jester. She’d be making comparisons to lollipops about now, sir.”

The Gentleman lets out a snort. “Well, I’ll let it go. If you can still think about other people, I’m clearly not doing my job right. But I think you’ve done enough of that.” He takes hold of Fjord’s jaw with one hand and uses the other to guide the head of his cock past his waiting lips. “Breathe through your nose, when you can. Tap my leg if you need to stop. If you bite me…”

He leaves the end of the threat dangling and Fjord shudders. 

He keeps the rocking of his hips slow and shallow, at first, giving Fjord plenty of time to suck and to work at him with his tongue. Fjord— honestly is just guessing, but he’s always been a fast learner. He works out quickly that as long as he guards his teeth and the short nubs of his tusks, there’s at least nothing he can do that’s bad. He figures out how to tease just beneath the head with the tip of his tongue and feels an absurd glow of pride at the sound that gets him. 

“Don’t you look right at home.” The Gentleman’s hand begins to stroke through his hair, “On your knees, worked open and ready for me already, cock in your mouth…”

Fjord makes a noise at that he almost wants to pretend is a protest. It trails off on a moan. Then he closes his lips around the head of the Gentleman’s cock and sucks. It gets him a low, smooth groan. After a few moments, the Gentleman’s hand on the back of his neck pulls him in. He’s back to slowly rocking his hips, cock bumping against the roof of Fjord’s mouth. 

“Shh… just take it. Be a good boy…”

He pushes deeper, then, nudges at the back of Fjord’s throat. The noise he makes is equal parts surprise and pleasure.

“Has someone trained you already?”

He can’t shake his head with a cock in his mouth, but he does his best. 

“No? Am I just that lucky? Let’s see if you choke…” His voice is almost a purr. 

The Gentleman pushes forward and just— slides in deep until Fjord’s nose brushes up against his pelvis. He swallows reflexively. The motion of his throat earns him a moan. He closes his eyes and lets his focus narrow to the taste and weight of the cock in his mouth. The Gentleman gets a firm grip on his jaw and starts fucking his face in earnest. He does his best to keep his teeth out of the way and holds on, breathing in when he gets a chance. Sounds pour from him, startled and desperate and dizzy. Fjord clasps his hands behind his back and digs his nails into his hands so he won’t try to keep him close. He almost does anyway as the Gentleman pulls back. A thread of saliva stretches between Fjord’s lower lip and the head of his cock. A soft whine breaks from him and Fjord cringes at the sound. He would have turned his face away if not for the fingers pressing into his jaw. He moves a hand and closes it around Fjord’s throat, squeezing just lightly enough to avoid cutting off his air again. 

“Your mouth’s put me in a good mood,” he explains, voice low. His thumb strokes up and down, rubbing over Fjord’s jugular. “You come with me or not at all. So if I come in your mouth, you’ll have to wait. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Fjord manages.

He realizes then that he’s as hard as if someone had been jerking him off for the last half hour. His face flushes hot. As the Gentleman’s gaze rakes down his body, he squirms. 

“…I could let you let you grind against my boot?” he offers.

The breath catches in Fjord’s throat. “No, sir. Thank you, that’s very— generous,” he adds quickly, “but…”

“But you’re not there yet.”

He supposes that’s one way to put it— that feeling of wanting to curl up and die even as arousal spikes through him. If he were ordered, maybe he could do it. The Gentleman’s boots are smooth and well-polished. The leather looks soft, or at least not uncomfortable. But. He cannot ask. So he nods as much as he can. 

“No, sir.”

“That’s alright. I’d be disappointed if you were done already.”

He strolls to the bed and sits, his legs spread carelessly. Then the Gentleman raises a hand and beckons. “Crawl.”

He freezes up for a moment, inhales hard, and then makes himself fold forward. His shoulders tense. Then he moves toward the bed. The wood floor digs into his bare knees. A dizzying wave of heat rolls up his spine and drags at him like a hook behind his cock. He reaches the Gentleman, lets out a shaking breath, and hides his face against his thigh. He makes to nuzzle in, get something in his mouth again. The Gentleman’s hand finds his throat again and holds him back. 

“None of that.” There’s a tray on the bed, Fjord realizes, that he must have put there after he returned. He takes his free hand and plucks something off of it “I have a gift for you. What do you say?”

“…depends on what it is?”

The hand on his throat squeezes tight and holds for the space of what would have been a few breaths. “Try that again.”

Fjord tries to inhale. But the Gentleman’s thumb is pressing on his trachea, and he cannot quite manage it. 

“Yes, sir,” he manages quietly. 

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

He doesn’t have a lot of air left, but he repeats himself. “Yes, sir.”

The Gentleman maintains his grip for another moment, squeezes a little harder, and then lets Fjord go. “Good boy. Up on the bed.”  
He does as he’s asked, climbing up on the bed and lying down on his back. The bed is more suspended mat than a mattress, but it’s comfortable, and he’s used to sleeping in a hammock. He stretches out, hips rising for a moment. They jerk again as the Gentleman brushes an open hand over his cock. Then he rises and goes to fetch the ropes, leaving Fjord sprawled out.

“Put your hands against the headboard, there’s a good pet.”

He wants to pretend it’s just the tone that makes him shudder. But. He obeys and bites at his lower lip as the Gentleman braces himself with one knee on the bed, tying expert knots around his right wrist. He makes a thick cuff, runs the cord across Fjord’s palm, and then lashes the other end to the headboard. 

“Pinching? Open your hand, then make a fist.”

He does both without trouble. “No, sir. Feels… good.”

“Good. Speak up if you get uncomfortable.”

He binds the other wrist. Fjord tugs a little at both, just to see. It’s a good tie, leaving him nowhere to go except toward the headboard. He lets himself moan softly. No shame in appreciating a job well done, after all. He relaxes, exhales, and then watches almost lazily as the Gentleman joins him on the bed again. His fingers rub over and around Fjord’s nipples, pinching, tugging, teasing them stiff. Then he reaches over to the tray and picks up what seems to be the same something he was holding before. A moment later, he lets it dangle, so it catches the light. It looks like a small pair of tweezers with a little band about half way down their length. It’s not until the Gentleman brings it toward his chest, a wicked smirk on his lips, that Fjord catches on. His eyes go wide, and he twists against the ropes. 

“Oh, good. I was about to explain.” He rolls the band a little higher, letting the clamp open. “But since you know what it is already…”

“Looks painful, sir.”

“It will be. You’ll love it, or I’ll take it off. But I think you’ll love it.” And, to prove his point, he gives one nipple a sharp pinch. 

Once he’s finished gasping, Fjord sinks back against the bed and gives a slow nod. 

The clamp bites down on his left nipple. He hisses and then yelps as the Gentleman gives it a firm twist and tug. When he squirms, tipping that side of his chest back as if he doesn’t want to beg for him to do it again, the Gentleman takes the opportunity to repeat the process on the other one. Fjord arches uselessly. He can’t move in any way to alleviate the ache and with his arms bound— he moans through gritted teeth as the Gentleman gives the right clamp a firm flick. 

“What did I tell you?”

Fjord just pants, blinking up at the ceiling. It gets him another flick and tug, the pain shooting from chest to cock. 

“You were right.”

“Right about…?” 

A tug, and a thumb rubbing around and around. 

“Fuck, please, sir—” his face burns. “It’s good. I love it. Please. Sir.”

“Good boy.” This time he tugs and Fjord arches toward him, letting out breathless little ah, ah, ahs until he lets go. “Good toy. Spread your legs and bring your heels up as far as you can.”

He does. There isn’t much pillow for him to hide his face against, but he tries anyway as he feels that dark gaze raking over him, catching on the base of the plug. The Gentleman’s fingers follow it, leave, and then come back slick with more oil. Fjord whines softly as they rub and his legs jerk. 

“That’s what I thought. No, shh. It’s alright. You just haven’t been trained yet. Deep breath. I’m going to take these off for a few minutes.”

He has enough time to process what that means before the Gentleman releases the clamps and blood rushes back to his nipples. He tugs again at the ropes, trying to get a hand down to soothe them. He gets a thumb rubbing around first one and then the other. It’s painful, probably worse for the attention.

“Thank you, sir.” 

The Gentleman kisses him, then, slow and purposeful. “You’re welcome. Be honest for me, Fjord. How long do you think you can stay   
like this?” He gives one leg a tap.

“It’d be easier with a little help, sir, but… a while.”

“Hmm. Feet flat. Raise your hips for me.” 

He does as he’s told and remains there, muscles tensed, as the Gentleman pulls a second set of ropes out from a carved wooden box beneath the bed and begins to tie a harness around his hips and upper thighs. Then he takes the pillow from beneath Fjord’s head and slides it under him, just at the dip in his spine. The why is obvious enough. He can feel how well he’s presented, how available he is. He flushes dark as he feels his cock twitch. A bead of wet rolls down. The Gentleman collects it on one finger and smears it salty-wet across Fjord’s lower lip. Then he takes the rest of the rope and binds Fjord calf to thigh. The ends of those ropes connect to the harness so that he cannot bring his legs closer together. Then he stands again and takes a pair of ropes to bind the harness to the frame of the bed. When he’s done, Fjord is caught between the pull of the rope and the firm cushion keeping his hips up, his arms tied tight above his head. He tests the ropes again just to feel them hold him. His head tosses against the pillow, eyes closed, lips parting on a low sigh. 

“You like that, don’t you, pet.” 

Fjord nods. “Yessir.”

The Gentleman’s leather-gloved fingers curl around Fjord’s cock, then, and squeeze. His back arches. The hand leaves him. When it returns, it’s slick with oil. He strokes slowly at first, twisting on the upstroke. It’s a lazy pace, toe-curling, kindling heat that rolls up his spine and joins the flush that stains his face and his chest. He groans softly, hips tensing. He wouldn’t be bound at all if he were allowed to move. Fjord breathes in. Exhales on a shaky moan. The Gentleman rubs a thumb over the head of his cock, and his hips thrust upwards. 

Immediately, the hand is gone. Fjord whines. His hips jerk, and then he goes limp. 

“Sorry, sir.”

He waits, breathing in and out, straining. Then the Gentleman’s hand comes back and starts pumping again. He jolts into it almost immediately and loses the touch as quickly as it had returned. The next time, he tenses and pants through his nose. It works, for a while. Fjord locks his limbs. Then a slick thumb rubs over the head of his cock. Between that and the pressure of the plug— His hips buck upward.

It gets a sigh from the Gentleman. “Hold still, pet.

“Yes, sir.” He wriggles a little in the ropes and then goes as motionless as he can. “Sorry, sir.”

The Gentleman pours more oil into his gloved hand. When it comes back, it’s just a wet, tight slide. It’s warm and thorough, and slowly he picks up the pace—

Fjord tenses and quivers, his hips stuttering despite his best efforts. It pushes the plug against his prostate. He cannot stop himself from letting out a bereaved whine as, yet again, that hand goes away. 

The Gentleman sighs and makes a show of wiping a few drops of water off of his forehead with his clean hand. They fly away at a casual flick. Then he’s back, pumping up and down, slowly and with almost no friction at all. Fjord groans, his head falling back. He has to stay still. He wants to, but Gods, he needs to move. He trembles. When he tries to bite his lower lip, the Gentleman reaches out and rubs his thumb over it.

“None of that, either.”

He quickens his pace a little and Fjord’s back arches as he moans. He tugs uselessly against the ropes before forcing himself down again. 

“Good, that’s good. Just lie still and take that for me. You’re a pretty toy, so good when you want to come. Do you want to come, my lovely thing?”

“Please,” he begs, “fuckin’— please.”

The Gentleman’s hand tightens on his cock. The next stroke makes Fjord’s eyes squeeze tightly shut. 

He leans in, beard brushing Fjord’s ear. “No.”

And he pulls his hand away.

Fjord yanks against the ropes, teeth bared, and then falls back against the mattress. He blinks up at the ceiling for a few minutes before sighing. “…Thank you, sir.” 

The Gentleman makes a pleased noise. He reaches down and starts toying with Fjord’s nipples again, pinching and rubbing. “What are you thanking me for, pet?”

“For— nngh— for puttin’ me in my place. For— oh fuck—”

He loses his words to keening as the first clamp goes back on. It tightens slowly as the Gentleman slides the band down, waiting until Fjord’s face screws up before drawing his hand away. It’s a sharp pain that shoots down to his cock and makes him clench hard on the plug. He yelps and hisses as the second clamp goes on and tightens to match. 

One of the leather gloves drops onto his stomach. Fjord opens his eyes in time to see the Gentleman pouring more oil over his fingers. They rub around the base of the plug, first, before he grips and slowly, very slowly, tugs it out. It feels odd to give it up, to be empty. He squirms, clenches on nothing, and then yells as the Gentleman grabs one clamp and pulls.

He gets two fingers at once after that, in and out slowly and methodically while he tries not to move. They curl upwards and, just as they rub against his prostate, the Gentleman gives the clamp a twist and a tug. He squirms between the two points, letting out a string of breathless sounds. He gets a third finger and the same treatment on the other nipple. The ropes pull taunt, keep his hips on the bed. Between the slow rub and thrust and the flicking and tugging, he feels like— like he’s going to go mad, like he’s going to come any moment.

“Please, sir,” he begs, “Please, Gods—”

“Are you asking for you, or for me?”

“You, you, fuck. I promise.”

His mouth drops open as all three fingers crook upwards and make sparks explode behind his eyes. It leaves him gasping, trying in vain to grind down against them.

Then the Gentleman stops. Whether it’s mercy or not is something for Fjord to decide later. Later, when he’s not panting and straining against the ropes. He gets a hand rubbing slowly up and down his thigh.   
He plucks at the ropes. “How do these feel?”

“Good, sir. Thank you.”

“Excellent…” 

He checks the cushion beneath the base of Fjord’s spine. Without breaking eye contact, he reaches down to slowly stroke an oil-slick hand over his cock. Fjord resists the impulse to squirm. He spreads his legs as much as he can and whines and waits, chest rising and falling with his panting. The slick head of the Gentleman’s cock slides against him, catches where he’s worked open. Slowly, he presses forward, in. He feels the stretch and the pressure of it as keenly as he had the first time. The Gentleman goes slowly, makes Fjord yield to it. A long, satisfied groan rises from his chest. Then, with one hand, he gets a grip on the rope harness around his hips. With the other, he reaches for the clamps. On instinct, Fjord arches and squirms, clenching down on the cock in him in the process. The Gentleman chuckles.

“Mmm, promising.” He starts a slow rhythm and takes hold of the left clamp. “Let’s see what happens when I... do... this.”

Fjord yells as he gives a hard tug and twist to one clamp. It, of course, makes him tighten on the cock in him and fuck he almost wishes he didn’t love it so much, wouldn’t regret it if he asked for the hurting to stop. His nipples and his neglected cock throb and there’s an ache in him that the steady fucking is soothing but is still dragging at him, insistent and uncontrollable. He tries to grind back, and the ropes bring him up short. With the bindings holding his legs, he can’t wrap them around the Gentleman’swaist, either. He keens, tugs on them, gets nowhere. The Gentleman doesn’t vary his pace. Just plays with the clamps, pumps into him like he plans to stay there for hours and honestly the idea doesn’t sound bad. It’d sound better if he’d just—

“Little deeper, please?” He gasps, and can’t even care about how desperate he sounds, “Please, sir?”

“You can do better than that…”

“Yessir.” 

That gets him a sharp grin, almost a shark’s smile with those pitch black eyes, and Fjord can’t suppress a whimper. Doesn’t care to, either, because right now he’ll make any noise he needs to if it will earn him something to fill this need. 

“I— I need your cock in me, please, sir. Wanna feel it tomorrow. Deep an— oh fuck,” he breaks off as the Gentleman tugs a clamp again, “and hard. Please, sir.”

“Well done…” 

He shifts, slowly, and the angle goes from good but not enough to deep enough that Fjord could almost swear he feels it in his throat. He turns his head and bites at one arm more on instinct than anything. The Gentleman stops toying with the clamps long enough to catch his jaw and turn his face back. Fjord nods jerkily, and then arches as a particularly well-aimed thrust makes him tremble all over. He feels flushed, hot, his skin slick with sweat. The Gentleman is still fully dressed aside from his cock jutting from his pants and— Gods, maybe he’s getting greedy, but he wants—

“May I see you, sir?” He asks.

The pace slows, turns to a white-hot grind, and Fjord manages not to whine. One thumb rubs over his cheek. He manages to jerk his chin toward the damp shirt, but that’s about all. Speech comes only in fits and starts. Thankfully, he seems to get it and pulls his hands away for long enough to strip it over his head. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” He takes a tight grip on the ropes and snaps his hips forward to punctuate his order. “Now lay back and be. A good. Toy. For me.”

Fjord’s pretty sure they can hear him at least out on the landing if not downstairs. The hot flush it brings stills his tongue, turns him into a shuddering mess on the low bed. He does his best to ride it out. He lays back and lets himself get fucked stupid. His world and his focus narrow to the steady pounding and the pain in his nipples. The pace picks up. Fjord squeezes his eyes shut and pants. 

“Sir—” He manages. At the last moment, he remembers the accent he’s supposed to have, dragging it up through the fog in his mind. 

“Sir, I’m gonna— I’m—”

“Need me to stop? I plan on coming.”

Fjord shakes his head. “All yours. All— may I, sir? Please?” 

“Yes.”

The next few thrusts rub along his prostate. He could not have held himself back if he had wanted to. The world whites out.   
When it comes back, the Gentleman is still pumping into him. He manages not to whimper, but it’s a challenge, especially when he gives a flick to one of the clamps. Obediently, Fjord bears down on the cock in him even as his body attempts to shy away from the overstimulation. 

The Gentleman thrusts deep, and Fjord feels his cock jerk and spill. With a final groan, he eases himself out. 

“Good boy…” he murmurs, rubbing a hand over Fjord’s stomach. 

It’s no surprise when he retrieves a plug. It’s still glass, but it’s not the one that had been in him before. It’s a little larger, for one thing, with a shape that’s more like a series of bulbs. One of the bulbs presses right up against his prostate. Fjord’s cock gives a weak twitch. Possibly in protest. 

“Do you have to run off?” The Gentleman asks as he begins to unbind the ropes holding Fjord to the bed. 

Fjord shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“Good… does this mean I can keep you for a while longer?”

His stomach swoops and dives at the look in those ink-dark eyes. Shark’s eyes and a sharp, knowing smile. 

“I’m all yours, sir.”

“Well, if that isn’t the best piece of news I’ve had today. Sit up.” He draws Fjord upright, steadying him as the plug shifts inside him. 

“Now, deep breath.”

He ends up burying his face in the Gentleman’s shoulder as the clamps come off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck— Ow. Fuck.”

“Sshhh…” 

The thumbs rubbing around his sore nipples do not help. He squirms and keens in the back of his throat. 

“I could have some ice brought up,” the Gentleman suggests, smirk plain in his voice.

“…no, thank you, sir.”

It’s less uncomfortable after that. The Gentleman checks over Fjord’s limbs, soothing the places where the ropes had left marks on his skin. He still flinches when the Gentleman takes a damp cloth and wipes away the mess on his stomach. There’s water for both of them. Fjord gets his hair stroked while he drinks his. 

Then the Gentleman picks the ropes back up. 

“…already, sir?”

“Actually, pet, I have some work to do,” he nods toward the desk, “I’d like to keep you secure while I take care of it.”

“In that case…” Fjord holds out his wrists. 

“Good boy.” 

He guides him to sit up, chuckling as the shift and new position make Fjord groan through his teeth, then ties a cuff on either wrist. The connecting rope passes beneath his legs. A pillow goes behind his back. Fjord makes himself comfortable, watching as the Gentleman neatens up the bed. He picks up the clamps.   
Fjord’s eyes widen.  
“—sir?”  
“You know what to say if you don’t want them.”

He’s still sore, still sensitive, but he says nothing. The noise he makes as the Gentleman reaches out to tease his nipples is as much defeated as it is pained. His head lolls back. He bucks a little as the clamps go on, jerking fruitlessly against the ropes. His nipples throb and his cock makes another vain attempt to rise. 

“What a pretty thing you are. Now, sit there, be good, and I’ll be over to take these off in just a little while. The less you distract me, the sooner I’ll be back.”

With that, the Gentleman stands and goes over to his desk.


End file.
